In a thin voice, she said, "I don't know."
"Is there somewhere we could escort you? We are yours to command." Lady Eileen shook her head. "Any other family?" She shook her head again. "Why then, you must come questing with us!" Gawain declared.
Lady Eileen smiled, uncertainly at first, then more brightly. Terence had been right: her face could be quite pleasant. Young, of course, and too many freckles, but not actually unattractive. "Do you mean it, Sir Gawain?" she asked.
"I mean it. And Terence also extends his invitation. Don't you, Terence?"
Terence shrugged and said, "If you want to."
"I think I would," she said shyly. "So long as I won't be in the way."
Gawain chuckled. "Little fear of that. You faced danger last night like a queen. Moreover, I've never seen a horsewoman with a better seat. And one of the finest horses, as well."
Lady Eileen flushed with pleasure. "His name is Caesar, and I've had him since he was a colt. He's the most wonderful horse in the world." She broke off and added anxiously, "But your horse is very nice, too, Sir Gawain."
Gawain's lips quivered only slightly as he bowed and said, "Thank you, my—"
"Guingalet is the greatest horse in all of Arthur's stables!" Terence broke in, offended.
"I said he was very nice, didn't I?" Lady Eileen snapped. "And don't interrupt people. It's rude."
"You don't have to teach me manners!" Terence replied hotly. "I've served at King Arthur's own table!"
Lady Eileen sniffed. "And don't come over high and mighty with me, Sir Terence. I've seen you in a dress."
Gawain sat on the greensward and laughed, and Terence promised himself that he would never again argue with a female.
They rested all that day and then set off the next morning, riding east. For one full day they rode up into hills, and all the next, they rode down their other side. In the hills they had seen no one, but in the valley, on the bank of a river, they came upon a woodcutter carrying a bundle of sticks, and Gawain stopped to ask his usual questions.
"A Green Chapel, you say." The woodcutter rubbed his beard. "Can't rightly say for sure, but there's a chapel along the river toward Littleborough."
"Is it green?" Gawain asked quickly. "Or called green by people?"
"Can't say what folks'm likely to call a chapel," the woodcutter said. "You said it was green?"
"No, I'm asking you. Is it green?"
"You could say that." The woodcutter nodded obligingly. "I'd call it grey, myself."
Gawain looked at him suspiciously. "Have you ever heard anyone refer to this grey chapel as the Green Chapel?"
"Nay, that would be daft, then." Gawain took a deep breath. Helpfully, the woodcutter continued, "Or then you might be meaning the other chapel, up toward Nottingham? It be grey, too, as I recall."
"Never mind," Gawain said. "Forget about chapels. Can you tell us where we might find a good ford across this river?"
"Ay, there be one by the grey chapel, so long as you're heading that way," the woodcutter said. "But you'll have to move along to get out of the forest by nightfall. Unless you go to the other grey chapel." The woodcutter nodded sagely, as if pleased to have been so much help. Lady Eileen stifled a giggle.
"Thank you for your help, friend," Gawain said, his eyes bright with amusement. "Perhaps we should look for that ford tomorrow. By the grey chapel, you said?"
Suddenly the woodcutter looked uncomfortable. "Ay, the grey one. But you weren't planning to stay in the forest tonight, were you?"
Gawain looked at him closely. "We are. Should we not?"
"Boggarts! After dark, this whole forest is alive with them. It's unhealthful!"
"Is it, then? I thank you for your information."
The woodcutter nodded, advised them again to make haste, then shambled off to the north. Gawain turned south, and the three rode in silence along the riverbank. Finally Lady Eileen said heartily, "Silly, isn't it? All these superstitions among the peasantry."
"Not always so silly, my lady," Gawain said. "Sometimes, of course, they're just tales, but there is more in this world than any of us have ever dreamed."
"You think this forest might be haunted then?" Terence asked. He was annoyed that his own voice sounded as artificial as had Lady Eileen's.
"I hope so, Terence. Where better to seek the Green Knight than in a haunted forest?"
This was clearly unanswerable, so Terence said nothing. The sun was setting when Gawain found a spot to camp, in a perfectly circular little clearing about twenty yards from the river. Terence told himself that it was just the long shadows of sunset that made the clearing look stark and forbidding, but he couldn't help feeling that they were in some sort of uncanny place, a place where something hidden took place and where they were not welcome. Gawain stepped away from Lady Eileen, beside Terence.
"Terence?" he whispered. "You've more faery blood than I. Do you feel something about this clearing?" Terence nodded. "Things happen here, don't they?"
Terence nodded again. "Not good things."
"Are we in danger?"
"I don't know, milord. I'm afraid of this place, but not that kind of afraid. Not afraid of danger."
Gawain looked pensively at Lady Eileen for a moment, then said, "We'll stay here tonight. If anything happens, leave it to me. You take care of Eileen. All right?" Terence looked at Lady Eileen, without much confidence. Gawain laid his hand on Terence's shoulder and said, "Believe me, lad. In this place, you're far more protection for her than I am." He went to groom their horses while Terence cooked dinner.
That night Terence closed his eyes and rolled up in his blankets, but he had never felt less like sleeping. His vague sense of unease had deepened with the darkness. Lady Eileen slept peacefully on the other side of the fire, and Gawain sat at the foot of a tree, still in his armor, holding the Sword Galatine, watching the night.
After perhaps an hour, Terence heard something, not a noise so much as a disturbance in the familiar noises, as if a pocket of silence were moving toward them. A violent chill quivered up Terence's spine and tickled his scalp. The stillness approached, then stopped. Gawain gasped softly, and his eyes widened. Terence followed Gawain's gaze and saw a girl.
She was no more than thirteen, with long straight yellow hair that blew very softly in the night breeze. She was very pale, almost white. Another shiver gripped Terence as the pale girl looked silently at Gawain.
"Hello G'winn," she said, almost too softly for Terence to hear.
With a sob, Gawain gasped, "Elaine!"
The most violent shiver of all wracked Terence's body. Elaine was Gawain's sister, who had died so many years before.
Elaine smiled slightly and beckoned to Gawain with one hand; then she turned and walked away. Gawain rose and stumbled behind as if in a trance.
"Go, Terence. Go after him," said a voice at his elbow. It was Robin, but a different Robin than Terence knew—a solemn, grave Robin whose lips curved in no smile and whose eyes held no mischief.
"Terence?" It was Lady Eileen, and her voice quavered with fear. "Who is that? Who is beside you?"
"Hurry, Terence, hurry," Robin whispered, and then he was gone.
"Terence?" Lady Eileen repeated, in a small voice.
"He's a friend, Eileen. I trust him," Terence managed to say. He stood and looked into the bushes into which Gawain had disappeared. "Come on, Eileen. We've got to go after Gawain." Terence took her firmly by the arm and pulled her to her feet. "He's in danger somehow. Come with me." She nodded, and Terence released her arm and led the way into the bushes.
The first thing he saw was one of Gawain's greaves, lying half concealed under a gorse bush. A few paces further was Gawain's shield. Terence realized suddenly that his own bow, arrows, sword, even his dagger were all back in the camp. He hesitated, but he knew he could not go back.
"Terence?" Eileen whispered. "What's going on? Why is he taking off his armor?"
"I don't know, Eileen. Hurry. We've got to catc
h up." They pushed on, following the trail of discarded armor, piece after piece thrown carelessly into the bushes, until Terence glimpsed a faint white light ahead of him and knew that they were near.
"Terence!" Eileen whispered fiercely. "Gawain's sword! There!"
Terence pushed roughly through a bush and saw the Sword Galatine, stuck point downward into the gravel riverbank. Already halfway across the river, a boat glided toward the far shore, where an impossibly steep mountain rose up from the bank. In the prow of the boat stood the pale girl. Behind her sat Gawain. Eileen clutched Terence's arm.
"After them, Terence!" Robin's voice whispered hoarsely. Terence gulped, then grabbed Eileen's hand and stepped resolutely forward into the river. The water was frigid, but not deep, and they took another step. And then their feet were no longer in the water. From beneath the surface, a boat had risen, dripping, and was following in the invisible wake of Gawain's boat. Eileen's face was tight and filled with wonder, but she stared resolutely ahead at the approaching mountain. Terence hoped he looked that brave.
"There was no mountain there when we passed by earlier," Eileen whispered. "Where did it come from, Terence?"
"It's probably always been there. We're just seeing things differently tonight." Terence paused. "Have you ever heard of the Other World?" She shook her head. "There is another world, Eileen, one that exists alongside ours. It's the world of faeries, elves, gnomes, goblins, sprites, and such. I think that's where we're going."
"Have you been there before?"
Terence told Eileen briefly about his and Gawain's earlier visit to the Other World, about the kind and noble Ganscotter the Enchanter and his beautiful daughter Lorie. He told how Gawain had become the Maiden's Knight and had won Lorie's love. "But this time I don't think we'll find everything so pleasant," he concluded.
The boat crunched gently on the thin strip of gravel at the foot of the mountain, and Terence and Eileen scrambled ashore. The boat sank at once beneath the surface, and they looked at each other uneasily.
"How do we get back?" Eileen asked.
Terence hesitated, then said, "We'll find a way. In the stories, there's always some way."
"And you believe them?"
"With the Other World, what is there to believe but stories? Come on, Eileen. I guess we climb."
They climbed. The sides of the mountain were impossibly steep, but at every point they found another handhold. They no longer tried to follow Gawain and his pale guide; they had to follow the handholds, and there was never more than one, as if the mountain itself were guiding them. Soon they passed one of Gawain's shoes.
Terence climbed first and reached down often to help Eileen. They passed Gawain's other shoe, then the leather cuisses he wore on his legs under his armor, then his undercloak. All that Gawain had left was the thin linen shift he wore next to his skin. At last, near the top, they reached a grassy ledge and collapsed, trembling with exertion.
It was Eileen, her hands cut and bloody and her face streaked with grime, who stood first. "What is that?" she asked, pointing into a stand of pines.
It was a house, but smaller than any that Terence had ever seen. The top of the thatched roof was barely taller than Terence's head, and the door was no more than four feet high. "There are more over there!" Eileen said, pointing at a flash of white paint visible on the other side of a little stand of trees.
Taking Eileen's hand, Terence led the way through the trees until they stood at the end of a narrow street built into the side of the mountain, lined on both sides with miniature houses, neat little wooden structures with thatched roofs, high gables, and little flower boxes under every window.
"It's like a doll town," Eileen said wonderingly.
"Without the dolls," Terence added. The street was empty, and the houses were dark and forlorn-looking in the way that only deserted houses were. There was no feeling of suspended activity, no sense of expectancy, the way there was in a sleeping village. The houses were neat, cared for, clean, but empty. Terence and Eileen, still clutching each other's hands, walked slowly down the center of the street until it turned a corner and opened into a little level square. In the center of the square was Gawain, alone, leaning against a stone well.
"Good evening, Terence, Elai—Eileen," Gawain greeted them calmly. His white linen shift was soaked with sweat and smeared with blood. His hands were torn and dripping blood.
"Milord, let me see to your hands," Terence said, hurrying forward.
"Don't worry, lad. They'll be well in the morning."
Terence looked sharply into his master's face. Gawain's eyes were outlined with dark creases of exhaustion, and they looked mistily into the distance without focusing. "Milord," Terence said, examining Gawain's lacerations. "This is no dream."
At first Gawain did not move, but then he frowned and focused on his squire. "But I saw her. I see her only in my dreams."
"I saw her too, milord. It was your sister, wasn't it?" Gawain nodded dumbly. "We've made the crossing, milord. We're in the Other World."
"Terence!" Eileen shrieked. Both Terence and Gawain turned sharply and saw at the far side of the square a knight, fully armored and carrying a spiked mace that swung freely on its chain. The knight stepped resolutely toward them, and Gawain shoved Terence aside.
"See to Eileen, lad. Promise me you'll take care of her!"
"I vow it, milord."
The knight lifted his mace and swung it downward at Gawain, who jumped aside and threw himself into the knight's breastplate. The knight staggered backward a couple of steps, and Gawain fell, rolled, and stood up in a crouch. Then they did it all over again. Then again. Gawain would dodge the mace, try to land some sort of blow on the knight's armor, then scamper out of range. Everything that the mace hit crumbled or shattered. Gawain clearly was fighting through exhaustion, and a glancing blow from the mace had left blood welling from Gawain's right shoulder, but still he stayed on his feet.
At last he saw an opening. As the silent knight rushed forward, swinging his mace horizontally, at head level, Gawain slipped inside the swing and threw his whole weight against the knight's arm. The arm stopped abruptly in mid-swing, but the spiked ball on the chain continued its circuit with all the force of the knight's attack and buried itself in the knight's own helmet. A loud, inhuman squeal echoed through the deserted street, and the knight's arm tightened convulsively around Gawain. The two knights toppled together onto the flagstones and were still.
Terence and Eileen stared at the still forms. There was no sound, no movement. At last the knight's body stirred, and Gawain's voice came faintly from beneath the armor. "Terence, if it's not too much trouble—"
Together, Terence and Eileen were able to pull the dead knight off Gawain, and they removed the knight's helmet. Eileen moaned and looked away, and Terence took an involuntary step backwards. Under the visor was the head, snout, and curved tusks of a boar.
"So that's what that squeal was," Eileen said. "A dying pig."
At that moment, like a delayed echo, another squeal sounded from the edge of the wood. They whirled around. From the shadows under the trees glinted several pairs of eyes. There was a low grunting noise, and then a huge boar stepped into the moonlight, followed by others.
Gawain stooped and pulled the mace from the knight's limp gauntlet. Searching the body quickly, he found a small hand axe and tossed it to Terence. "Get Eileen back to the well," he commanded. They were just able to get their backs to the stone well at the center of the courtyard and to position Eileen between them before the boars charged.
For Terence, what followed was a dizzying whirl of instinctive reactions. He felt no pain or fear, made no plans, thought no thoughts, but simply existed in a stretch of clearheaded, tireless action that could have lasted for seconds or for hours. When it was over, he remembered battering boar after boar with his axe; he vaguely recalled seeing a tusk tear his right forearm and he remembered catching the tusk in his left hand and smashing the boar into the stones of
the well; he remembered throwing himself into a charging boar and knocking it sprawling just before it could hit Eileen. But when the last boar had been killed or had fled, and Terence looked dazedly around the court, he could not account for the four carcasses that lay at his feet. A wave of dizziness rushed over him, and he leaned against the well for support.
"Good Gog, Terence," Gawain said from somewhere very far away. "If I don't have you knighted for this, I'll ... Good Gog, Terence!"
And then a softer voice, much closer, said, "Your arm, Terence. Hold it out and let me tie it up."
Weakly, Terence held out his right arm. "I guess they were angry that you killed the boar-knight, milord," he said.
"Sir Gawain, would you please dip some water from this well," said the soft voice. The voice sounded like Eileen's, except that it was gentle. "Sir Gawain? Oh, for heaven's sake, Gawain! I can't have you both fainting on me! Of all the inconsiderate....Just like a man!"
"Yes," Terence thought. "It's Eileen, after all." And then he went to sleep.
VII. Challenges in the Night
Terence awoke to the smell of wildflowers and to a throbbing pain in his right arm. Opening his eyes, he found himself lying on a bundle of heather beside a stream. Nearby, Guingalet and the other horses cropped grass in a lush meadow. Gawain lay asleep nearby, but Eileen was awake, stitching the hem of her dress.
"What have you done to your dress?" Terence asked. His voice sounded weak and raspy.
Eileen glanced at him briefly, then resumed her sewing. "So you're awake, are you? How does your arm feel?"
Terence could not seem to focus his thoughts. "That dress barely covers your knees," he said. "Where's the rest of it?"
"Mostly wrapped around your arm and Gawain's shoulder. Some of it is on Gawain's feet. They got pretty chewed up climbing a mountain barefoot. Now answer me: How does your arm feel?"
"It hurts," Terence replied. "Where are we? How did we get here?"
The Squire, His Knight, and His Lady Page 8
